


Want To Be Close

by ValueVices



Series: Signs of Love [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dorothea ships it, F/F, Gen, Love Epiphany, M/M, Marriages of Convenience, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Time Skip, Pretty minor dorothea/petra and hubert/ferdie, RELATIONSHIP METAPHORS, Sharing a Bed, Traumatic childhood memories, bully hunter caspar, caspar is still afraid of storms, falling in love but not realizing it, gay big sis dorothea, linhardt cares but he sucks at showing it, marianne in the background, more tags to come, school days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValueVices/pseuds/ValueVices
Summary: Stories from Linhardt and Caspar's days at the Academy. Often involves their classmates. Happy stories, sad stories, and everything in between.Chapter Five: Linhardt realizes he's in love with his best friend.





	1. Things you can't forget

“Lin...” said Dorothea one day, as they sat in the grassy area outside of the classrooms. They were playing a board game meant to simulate tactical warfare in practice for an exam. So far, Linhardt was winning, despite barely seeming awake. “Do you remember when we had that talk about pride? Your move, by the way.”

“Hmm?” said Linhardt, lifting his head. He blinked sleepily, then yawned, surveying the board. “Oh, yes. Do you mean the time we decided it was a pointless endeavor?” 

“_You_ decided it was a pointless endeavor,” said Dorothea. “I’m not sold on that idea yet.”

Linhardt picked up a piece and moved it. “You should reconsider. Really, things are much less complicated my way.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Dorothea. “But maybe I want things to be complicated. Did you think of that, Lin?” She studied the board carefully. 

“I can’t even begin to imagine why,” said Linhardt. “Well, I suppose that’s why you’re you, and I’m me. How tedious life would be if everybody thought alike. Particularly if everybody thought like me; nothing would get done.”

Dorothea picked up a piece, changed her mind, put it back. She resumed studying the board. “I won’t argue with that,” she said. “Though it does really make me wonder what it’s like inside that head of yours.”

“Quite lovely, I assure you,” he said.

Finally, Dorothea just gave up and moved one of her pieces. Surely she was overthinking things. “Actually, I—“ she started, and then heard laughter from somewhere nearby. Mocking laughter. She knew the sound well. 

“Don’t bother looking,” said Linhardt, but Dorothea’s head was turning, automatically, to the source of the sound. Sure enough, a pair of highborn-looking boys were looking over this way. She locked eyes with one briefly, saw the contempt in his gaze, and had to look away again, cheeks burning.

“I can’t help it, Lin,” she said quietly. “I just...”

“HEY! YEAH, YOU! I SEE YOU!” roared another, familiar voice from somewhere nearby. 

“Ah, here he comes...” said Linhardt. 

Sure enough, it was Caspar. The two boys who’d been laughing turned to see him storming towards them, clearly spoiling for a fight. One of the boys seemed primed to fight back, but the other looked a good deal more nervous. “What do you want?” said the defiant one.

“Oh, I think you know,” said Caspar, cracking his knuckles. “Pretty rude to go around pointing and laughing at people, don’t you think? I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”

“Let’s _go_,” the nervous-looking boy said, tugging on his friend’s sleeve, and the defiant one must have finally seen the savage glimmer in Caspar’s eye because he suddenly took off running along with his friend.

Caspar lunged after them. “GET BACK HERE!”

“Oh, my,” said Dorothea, watching them go. “He certainly is spirited, isn’t he.”

“I imagine he just got bored of studying,” said Linhardt. “I know for a fact he’s playing catchup on five whole chapters of the textbook we’re to be tested on.”

“Well, nevertheless,” said Dorothea. “I’m thankful for it.”

“Are you?” said Linhardt, frowning slightly. He moved one of his game pieces—capturing one of Dorothea’s. Drat.

“Aren’t you?” countered Dorothea. She examined the board, determined not to make another careless mistake.

“...We were talking about pride,” said Linhardt. “Or my lack thereof. Do you mind if I tell you how I came to my conclusion?”

“About not caring about it? I have to admit, I’m curious,” said Dorothea.

“All right then,” said Linhardt, in a curiously detached tone. Dorothea glanced up to find him staring off into nothing, that small frown still creasing his face. “It was when I was...oh, it must have been four or five years ago, now. My father had taken me along on some political dealings or other—he was always trying to get me interested in such things. It never worked, of course, but often his dealings involved the Minister of Military Affairs...Caspar’s father. And sometimes he would bring Caspar along as well.”

“You two have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?” said Dorothea.

“Ten years,” said Linhardt. 

Dorothea shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve even known anybody for that long.”

“Yes,” said Linhardt. “Well. As it happened, at the conference my father was at, Count Bergliez was attending. I was wandering the grounds of the estate...I don’t remember which noble house it belonged to now, but it’s hardly important. I came across two other noble children, older than I, and happened to overhear them speaking ill of me. It was some foolish nonsense, of course. Some half-cooked jibes about how I looked like I could hardly lift a sword, and how my hair made me look like a girl. All true, admittedly, but at the time, it bothered me.”

All thoughts of the game had fled from her mind as Dorothea listened, and now she wasn’t even looking at the board. “Children can be terribly cruel,” said Dorothea, hands tightening over her knees. She knew this well, from experience. “Noble children, particularly.”

Linhardt nodded sombrely, still gazing off into the distance. “I devised a trick to get back at those boys,” he said. “Not a very clever one, mind you. I rigged the door to the room they were in with a pail of water over the door, and then knocked.”

Dorothea giggled. “Let me guess. They weren’t too thrilled about that,” she said.

“Correct,” said Linhardt. “They were not. Rather short-sighted of me, wasn’t it? I suppose I had just gotten tired of my father’s talks of me learning to stand up for myself.”

“So that’s your story?” said Dorothea. “You tried it once, and it didn’t work out? I knew you gave up easily, Lin, but _honestly_—“

“That’s not the end of the story,” said Linhardt, and something in his voice gave Dorothea pause. He looked at her then, and there was a coldness in his eyes that made her stomach drop. “The boys chased after me. I ran, but they caught up to me easily enough, outside. I don’t expect they would have done anything much to me, seeing as they knew who I was, but...” his jaw tightened. “Caspar happened across us then.”

Dorothea could picture it easily enough, a younger Linhardt sorely out of breath and cornered by two noble bullies, one of them soaking wet. And Caspar seeing this, fierce, fearless young Caspar, ready to fight the world over any injustice he saw. “He tried to fight them?” she said.

“They were much bigger than him,” said Linhardt. “But it didn’t stop him, of course. He couldn’t hope to win. And his attackers, they didn’t...Caspar never dressed the part of a noble’s son, and he was a second son at that. They didn’t recognize him; they must have thought he was a commoner. And they beat him terribly, Dorothea.” 

“Oh...” said Dorothea faintly, feeling ill. “Oh, Lin. That’s so awful. I had no idea.” No...that wasn’t right. She had every idea. She remembered with painful clarity a nobleman’s boot connecting with her ribs, when she was just a child, starving, on the streets of Enbarr. And he’d laughed, that nobleman, when he’d seen her lying in the dirty street, tears staining the cobblestones.

“I thought they were going to kill him,” said Linhardt, hands curling in his lap. “I ran for the guards...by the time they came and pulled the brutes off him, Caspar was a bloody mess. Barely even conscious.”

Dorothea was shaking slightly now, a mixture of anger and revulsion churning in her gut. “Monsters,” she said coldly. “They’re all monsters.”

“Maybe so,” said Linhardt. “But that was when I decided pride was worthless. So many nobles would stake their lives on it, even other people’s lives. But for what? A hollow victory? It’s foolishness. Nothing but.”

Dorothea shook her head slightly, still trying to process the story she’d just heard. “I...I can see why you think that, Lin,” she said. “I understand now. And I agree, too much pride can lead to terrible things. But...I still don’t think it’s all bad. It can be good to have pride, sometimes. Pride in who you are, or what you believe in. If you discount it all as worthless, that’s just...well, it’s running away.”

“Fair point,” said Linhardt. “But as I’ve told you before, that is _exactly_ how I prefer to deal with things that trouble me. Your move, by the way.”

Startled, Dorothea glanced down at the game before looking back to Linhardt. “Lin, you should at least _try_ to face some of these things. You’re going to back yourself into a corner someday.”

“Well, I haven’t yet,” said Linhardt. “And I haven’t heard any ringing endorsements for the way of living you suggest. It sounds rather painful, and that is something I would like to avoid.”

“Yes, it’s painful,” argued Dorothea, “But sometimes pain is necessary to grow as a person.”

“No thank you,” said Linhardt, bluntly.

Dorothea sighed. “I’ll never understand you, Lin...” She looked back down at the game board. Her focus from beforehand was completely gone; she couldn’t remember what move she had been planning next. But then, she saw a different move. A _perfect_ move, that she definitely knew she hadn’t seen before. “How’s this?” she said, flashing a grin at Linhardt as she moved her piece.

“Ah,” he said. “Hmm. Well. I certainly overlooked that. Let me think for a moment...”

While he was pondering, Dorothea glanced out over the lawn. “Look at that,” she said, spotting Caspar coming back from the direction he’d run off, looking all scuffed up and walking with a slight limp. Edelgard was with him, and it looked as though they were arguing. “I don’t suppose _he_ learned anything from that story you were telling me, did he?”

Linhardt looked up as well. “Oh, Caspar never learns anything,” he said, watching Caspar and Edelgard pass by. “I had hoped he would stop attacking my detractors when I stopped caring about what they had to say, but that boy is relentless. Now _that’s_ foolishness.”

“I don’t think that’s fair,” said Dorothea. “He’s doing it because he cares about you, Lin. He cares about you a lot.”

Linhardt looked back to the game, one side of his mouth quirking down. “It would save us all a considerable amount of trouble if he didn’t,” he said.

“That’s...” Dorothea didn’t have a response for that. 

“By the way, I believe you’ve bested me,” said Linhardt, making a sweeping gesture over the board. “I can’t see a way forward that doesn’t end with me losing. How careless of me.”

“You know, it wouldn't hurt to _tell_ me I won fair and square, even if you don’t mean it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Very well. Dorothea, under the power of your devious wiles and tactical prowess, you have seized victory and would doubtless fail to relinquish your grasp were we to match wits again, no matter how many times I challenged you.”

She laughed. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we? You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

“Thank you,” he said, mimicking a bow.

She shook her head, smiling. “You know...I don’t understand you, but...I’m glad we’re friends.”

“As am I,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I ought to go and make sure Caspar doesn’t start any more fights on the way to the infirmary.”

Dorothea watched him go until he was out of sight, then sighed as she began to gather up the game pieces. “Maybe we’re all fools, Lin,” she murmured to herself. “Even you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after Dorothea and Linhardt's B support. I like to think of Dorothea as a mentor to the other gay babies at the Academy...particularly these ones.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Hopeless Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spotting Linhardt having lunch with Marianne, Dorothea and Caspar have a chat about marriage.

“I didn’t realize Lin was so popular with the ladies,” said Dorothea, watching from across the dining hall as at a distant table Linhardt was—flirting? Chatting amicably?—with a girl from another house. Marianne, if Dorothea didn’t miss her guess. 

“Mmh?” said her own dining companion, and Dorothea turned just in time to witness Caspar swallowing a bread roll almost completely whole. She wrinkled her nose and held out a napkin; she’d been present for Linhardt scolding him for his eating habits enough times to know it wouldn’t do any good. Caspar took the napkin gratefully.

“I was just saying,” she said, “I’m surprised _Lin_ of all people is courting lady friends. I swear I saw him just last week with...oh, what’s her name. The one with the white hair.”

“Lysithea?” said Caspar, thankfully not talking with his mouth full this time. Of course, then he had to go and shove another heaping forkful of fish in his face, so Dorothea looked away again.

“I think so,” she said, resuming her spying. Linhardt was smiling, leaning across the table towards Marianne. He reached out a hand to cover hers, sitting on the table, but she drew it back, shaking her head. What _were_ they talking about, Dorothea wondered. The curiosity itched at her like a cheap wool garment, irritating and annoyingly compelling.

It wasn’t that Dorothea had any interest in Linhardt, at least not _like that_. Not at all. It was just...she had thought he was...well, like her. 

“Who’s it this time?” asked Caspar.

“Marianne,” said Dorothea. “That gloomy girl from Golden Deer.”

“Oh,” said Caspar, chewing thoughtfully on his food. He made a face, then spit out a fishbone onto his plate. “Yeah,” he continued, “He said she might have some kinda Crest or something.”

“I can see why that would pique his interest,” said Dorothea. “I just never thought I’d see Lin _flirting_.”

“He’s trying to find somebody to marry,” said Caspar, as if this were an obvious fact.

Dorothea’s gaze whipped back to him. “What?”

“Whoa!” said Caspar. “Okay, I forgot that’s your whole...thing there for a second. It’s not like that for Linhardt. Well, I guess it kind of is...” he impaled another chunk of fish on his fork and was about to raise it to his mouth, but Dorothea reached across the table to stop him.

“Can you explain what you meant? Unless it’s personal.”

Caspar shifted uneasily. “Uh, no, I don’t think he cares, but...I guess...Linhardt’s gonna inherit his House, right? He’s next in line.”

“Yes, for House Hevring,” said Dorothea. 

“Yeah, so that means he’s gonna have to marry somebody and carry on the bloodline and all that. But he says it’ll be too much trouble to marry whoever his father picks, so...”

“Ah, he’s looking for the perfect partner,” said Dorothea. This was something she understood well. But somehow, hearing it about Linhardt was disappointing. If only because, well...she’d seen the way he looked at other boys. She’d seen the way he looked at _Caspar_. She sighed. “What are his standards, pray tell?”

“Having a Crest,” said Caspar. “Oh, uh, not because of...you know. Bloodline reasons. He just wants to study it.”

“That...certainly sounds like him,” said Dorothea. “A bit disengenous though, don’t you think? Considering who he’s going after. I think it would crush poor Marianne’s heart if she knew that’s all she was wanted for.”

“Well, he wouldn’t marry anybody if he didn’t like them,” said Caspar. “That’d defeat the whole point.”

“How wonderfully practical,” said Dorothea.

Caspar regarded her closely, chewing his food thoughtfully. With his mouth closed, thank the goddess. When he finished, he said, “Uhh...you seem kind of mad.”

“It must certainly seem like the pot is calling the kettle black,” she said, half-smiling.

“Not really,” said Caspar. “I just don’t get why. Wait—_you_ didn’t have a thing for him, did you?”

Dorothea was quite unable to contain the inelegant snort that burst out of her. “Me? And Lin? Oh, Caspar. Please.”

Caspar speared a chunk of carrot on his plate, face flushing with embarrassment. “Okay, then what’s the problem?”

“Hmm,” said Dorothea, pushing her empty plate aside so she could lean against her arms on the table. “Well...Caspar, what are your plans for marriage?”

Caspar nearly choked on his food. Dorothea winced sympathetically as he coughed, until finally he sat back and breathed out in one long breath. “What...what are you asking _me_ for?” he said.

“Just curious,” she said. 

“Ugh...” said Caspar, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, I already told you, I’m just not really into that stuff.”

“Aren’t you a noble? I thought that it would be important for you, too.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m just a second son. I mean...if I married somebody who was important, that’d be a different story, but I’m not really interested in that.”

“But if the right girl came along?”

“Sure, I guess,” said Caspar, shrugging. 

“How about the right guy?” Dorothea pressed, watching his face carefully.

Alarm flashed across Caspar’s features. “W-what? Uh—I mean—look, I’m not—”

_Very_ interesting. “I’m just teasing, Caspar,” she said, smiling at him. She’d toyed with the poor boy enough for one day.

“Well, don’t!” Caspar said, scowling indignantly. “How come we’re talking about this again? I thought we were talking about Linhardt.”

“We were,” she said, spotting Marianne get up from Linhardt’s table and hurry away. Linhardt himself got up from the table with a resigned expression, then glanced around and saw them. Dorothea waved. “There he is now, actually,” she said to Caspar, who had resumed shoveling food into his mouth.

Caspar turned in his seat to see Linhardt coming towards them. “Hey, Linhardt!”

Linhardt gave him a stern look as he drew near. “Honestly, Caspar. How many times must I tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full—or if you must, at least you could be kind enough not to do it in my presence.”

Caspar shrugged, swallowed, said, “Weren’t you having lunch with a girl?”

Linhardt sunk into the chair next to him, nodding at Dorothea in greeting. “Yes, though I can’t say it was altogether successful. She’s beautiful, that Marianne, but she doesn’t make herself easy to talk to. I’m tired now.”

“You’re always tired,” said Caspar.

“I’ve heard that she’s rather...shy,” said Dorothea. “Though I’m not sure if she spends as much time cooped up in her room as our Bern.”

“That’d be a real accomplishment,” said Caspar, once again speaking around a mouthful.

Linhardt gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, well...let it not be said that I never put the effort in, if the cause is worthwhile. Caspar, don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeve. That’s disgusting.”

A worthwhile cause indeed, thought Dorothea, a little sadly. Even if it was a hopeless one.

And as she watched them banter back and forth, a goofy grin gracing Caspar’s face and a little, sleepy smile on Linhardt’s, she wished it wasn’t. But maybe, just for now, she could pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again...Dorothea, save these boys from themselves.
> 
> I'm really glad other people are enjoying Gay Big Sis Dorothea! As always, come say hi, I love to hear from you :3


	3. Catherine's Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine can't figure out what's bothering her so much about Linhardt's request to borrow Thunderbrand.

Something was bothering Catherine. 

She didn’t know what it was yet. But since that Linhardt kid had interrupted her training, she was having trouble focusing.

As she swung her training sword for the two hundred and eighty-fifth time, she wondered. Was it just because he wanted to borrow Thunderbrand? A ridiculous request. For one, Lady Rhea would never approve. And for two...well, Thunderbrand was _hers_, by right of blood and by her appointment as a Holy Knight of the Knights of Seiros, and it was that way for a reason. It was too dangerous to allow somebody unqualified to handle it, but by the Goddess it never stopped people from asking. And it wasn’t just Linhardt. Scores of people had approached Catherine in the past, begging her to let them touch it, to wield it, to see it in action. It was annoying. But she was used to it.

So it probably wasn’t that.

What, then? Was it the way he’d seemed so eager to endanger himself? Well, actually, she had to admit, he’d surprised her. She hadn’t known much about Linhardt beforehand, since he was almost never seen at Catherine’s usual haunt of the training grounds. She’d assumed he was as lazy and unreliable as he looked. But a willingness to risk one’s own life for a cause was something she respected.

So _that_ probably wasn’t what was bothering her.

But still...something about it...what was it he’d said, exactly?

_Let's say you're right and I do become a Demonic Beast. What of it? I'm the only one who will be inconvenienced._

Oh, right. Yeah. Catherine swung her sword for the three hundred and fifteenth time, grimacing. She didn’t like that. The matter of fact way he’d said it, as if he vanished off the face of the earth one day the world would just go on turning without him. It was foolish talk, that. Not to mention dangerously self-centered, to think you could just go ahead and do whatever you want without a thought for the people you leave behind. 

It made her think of Christophe. 

Shit. Now she’d gone and lost count. 

She’d call it an even three hundred. Just fifty swings more. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven...

Linhardt must have people who would miss him. He must. Even if he thought he didn’t. Gah. Was this something she ought to bring up with his professor? She didn’t like to meddle in the students' affairs—she was a knight, not a teacher. But still, it was bothering her. Did the kid even have friends? He didn’t seem like the social type. Maybe—

“Catherine!” somebody bellowed, bursting onto the grounds.

She paused in the middle of her...damn, she’d lost count again. Well, whatever. “Caspar,” she said, resting the training sword on her shoulder as she looked the boy over. He was breathing hard, bent with his hands braced against his thighs, as though he’d been running for a while. “What is it?”

“Have you...seen...Linhardt?” he panted. “Somebody said...he was...here.”

She raised her eyebrows. “He left about ten minutes ago.”

“Shoot,” said Caspar. “Did he...say where...to?”

“Can’t help you there,” said Catherine, shrugging, and because she was curious, “Why are you looking for him?”

Caspar straightened up, breathing in deeply to catch his breath. “Well,” he said. “Ashe and the Professor were cooking up some of those sweet buns from the Kingdom, and those are Linhardt’s favorites! So I was gonna tell him to go get some before Raphael eats them all.”

Catherine blinked twice, and then burst out laughing. “And that’s why you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off? You could’ve just took some and given them to him, you know.”

“Huh?” said Caspar, looking genuinely taken aback. “Aw, I didn’t even think of that! You’re right! I better go grab some! Thanks, Catherine!” 

And then he was gone again, dashing full-tilt in the direction of the kitchen. Catherine watched him go, one hand on her hip, shaking her head and smiling to herself.

Well. Guess she didn’t have to worry about that. At least the part about Linhardt having people who cared about him. Even if he didn’t realize it. Hopefully, though, he would. Before it was too late. 

At the very least, he was never getting his hands on Thunderbrand. 

“Now,” Catherine muttered to herself. “How many swings was I on again? Eh. I’ll just start from three hundred again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short one...actually, I think this is the first idea I had for a three houses fic.
> 
> This story takes place after Linhardt and Catherine's C support!
> 
> Thanks for reading, I really appreciate all the supportive comments I have been getting <3


	4. Cats and dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra puzzles over the meaning of Edelgard's offhand comparison of Linhardt and Caspar to a cat and a dog, and eventually reaches her own conclusion.

The Black Eagles classroom was lively today, Petra thought. It was a welcome change; today the Professor had made sure everybody was in attendance for the announcement of their next assignment: paired projects. 

The only thing was, they didn’t get to choose the pairs. The Professor did. It was too bad, because Petra had been thinking she would have liked to work with Dorothea, but Dorothea had been assigned to work with Bernadetta. 

This was a good choice, Petra had to admit. Dorothea was very kind, and Bernadetta was easily frightened. It was a good match.

But some of the matches...

“I can’t believe I’m working with you, of all people,” said Linhardt, looking quite put out. “If it were anybody else I’d probably be able to get away with doing a minimum of work and still end up passing...”

“Are you calling me stupid?” said Caspar, seated next to him and looking equally annoyed. “I could do the whole thing myself if I wanted to!”

“Yes, but you won’t, because you actually need this passing grade.”

“Yeah, I do! So you had better do your share of the work, Linhardt!”

“I’ll consider it,” said Linhardt, laying his head on the desk. “But since the Professor so rudely interrupted my nap to drag me here for this, I’m just going to resume sleeping, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Hey! No! No falling asleep! You gotta help me with this!” said Caspar, banging the desk. Linhardt responded to this by folding his arms in front of his face and turning his head the other way.

From the seat next to Petra, Edelgard sighed as she watched them. “They’re like a cat and dog,” she said. “I wonder what the Professor was thinking.” 

Petra looked between Caspar and Linhardt, trying to parse this. Which of them was the cat, and which was the dog? “I do not have understanding,” she said. “What is your meaning, cat and dog?”

“Oh, never mind,” said Edelgard. “It was just a silly comment. Really, they can’t be any worse off than Ferdinand and Hubert.”

Petra looked to the other corner, where Hubert was glowering at his own partner. Ferdinand didn’t appear to notice at all, and seemed to be cheerfully going on about his plan for the assignment. “I have much excitement to witness how theirs will be,” said Petra.

Edelgard laughed. “Yes, I’m sure it will be very interesting. Let’s concentrate on ours for now, shall we?”

“Yes,” agreed Petra. “Which topic would you like for us to be choosing?”

“Hmm,” said Edelgard, “I was thinking...”

The project was due in a week and a half. Which was plenty of time, for Petra. Edelgard was a good partner. They spent time in the library together every afternoon, and by the fifth day they were almost finished. 

“That should be enough for now,” said Edelgard, closing the book she was reading. “We’ll be done by tomorrow.”

“I have agreement,” said Petra. “Tomorrow we will be finishing. Would you like for to...ah, would you like to go now to the dining hall with me?”

Edelgard smiled and shook her head. “Thank you for the invitation, Petra. I have some books I’ve been meaning to look at, though. I’ll be here a while longer, so please go ahead.”

Petra nodded. “Enjoy your reading,” she said, and headed off. But as she was passing a table, a sleepy voice called out to her.

“Petra.”

Ah. It was Linhardt. There he was, lifting his head from his table, which was covered in piles of books. “Linhardt. What can I be doing for you?” she asked.

“If you see Caspar, send him here, will you? We haven’t,” he yawned, then continued, “Started our project yet.”

“You have not made the beginning?” said Petra, incredulous. “But there is only left half of the time!”

“Yes, yes,” said Linhardt, waving a hand. “It will get done.”

“If you are saying so...” said Petra. “I will send to you Caspar, if I am seeing him.”

“Thank you,” said Linhardt, “Oh, and I’ll be here all day.” Then he laid his head back down on the table and closed his eyes.

He was so strange. Why did he need to sleep so much? Did he not sleep in his bed? Of all her classmates, Linhardt was the one Petra had the most difficulty understanding. He liked very much to talk with long words, and only seemed to attend class when he felt like it. But he was extremely smart, she thought. And he could come up with very clever plans, when he wanted to.

He didn’t seem to want to very often.

Petra made her way to the dining hall, keeping an eye out for Caspar. He would probably be at the training hall this time of the day. That was what she thought, but when she rounded the corner of the building, she was met with an unusual sight.

Caspar, surrounded by half a dozen cats. They looked young, except for one—a mother and her kittens? Caspar was sitting on the ground, back to the wall, a saucer of milk placed between his legs. The mother cat and three of the kittens were drinking from it, and the other two were climbing on Caspar. He laughed, lifting the tiny black one from where it had clambered up into his hair. “Hey, watch it, little guy! Those claws are sharp!” He put the kitten down into his lap, where it looked up at him and meowed indignantly. The other kitten, a tabby, was curled up and sleeping in the crook of his arm. 

Petra hovered at the corner of the wall, not sure she should interrupt. She had complicated feelings about Caspar; after all, he bore the blood of the man who had killed her father. There had been a time, at the beginning of their days at the Academy, where she had very seriously considered ending his life—to make it appear as a training accident, or some similar thing.

She had not thought that for very long. But it crossed her mind sometimes, when she so missed the sound of the ocean and the sweltering heat of her homeland, and felt resentment in her heart for everything that had taken Brigid from her.

But it was things like this that reminded her: Caspar was dearer to her than her hatred. He brought kindness to the world. 

She stepped forward. “Hello, Caspar,” she said.

He looked up in surprise, then smiled. “Hey, Petra! Check out these cute lil guys.”

Petra came closer, crouching down to look at the ones lapping up milk from the saucer. An orange one paused to look up at her, before resuming drinking. “They are very cute. You have made a good friendship with them,” she said.

Caspar smiled even more broadly. “Yeah? They’re pretty easy to please.”

“I did not know you liked cats,” Petra said. The black kitten in Caspar’s lap was peering at her curiously, so she reached out a finger for it to sniff. 

“Sure,” said Caspar. “I love ‘em. They’re smart, and they just kind of do their own thing—they take care of themselves, and don’t care what anybody thinks about them. They know what they like. Milk, fish, and a lotta catnaps.” He illustrated this by scratching the top of the sleeping kitten’s head gently. The kitten’s eyes blinked open, then it yawned and closed them again. 

Petra remembered suddenly Edelgard’s comment from the week before. Caspar liked cats—but he didn’t seem very much like one. So did that mean Linhardt was the cat? Well...he did like to nap. And he didn’t seem to care what people thought of him.

“Linhardt,” Petra said suddenly, remembering why she was here in the first place. 

“Huh? What about him?” said Caspar.

“He is looking to find you,” said Petra. “Because you have not made the beginning of your assignment.”

For a moment Caspar seemed confused, and then understanding lit in his eyes. “Oh! Oh, yeah. Ugh...when is that due again?”

“There will be—uh, no...there are five days until it is due,” she said.

“Only five days?!”

She nodded. “Linhardt is waiting in the library,” she said. “But he said he will be being there for all of the day.”

Caspar’s shoulders slumped miserably, as if he had received terrible news instead of being reminded of a necessary assignment. “Guess I better head over there...sorry, little guys. I’ll come see you later, okay?” He gently plucked the sleeping kitten from his arm, disentangling its claws from his sleeve with a chuckle as the kitten mewled in protest. The black kitten was also safely deposited on the ground, before Caspar stood up. “Thanks, Petra.”

“It was not a problem,” she said. “I hope you are having luck.”

“Yeah!” said Caspar, pumping a fist in the air. “We’re gonna make the best project ever!” Then he looked down. “Oh, uh, I better take this dish back to the kitchen first.”

“I am onto my way there,” said Petra. “I will bring it.”

“Really? Thanks!” he said. “Okay, see you later!” Then he dashed off.

Petra smiled to herself, watching him go and then looking down at the cats. The tabby kitten shook itself and let out a litte mew, and Petra petted it on the head before retrieving the dish. Almost all of the milk was gone, but the mother cat still fixed Petra with a dirty look before sitting down and beginning to groom herself. “You also have made a good friendship,” she said to the cats.

Four days later, the morning before the project was due, Petra again was surprised by Caspar, but in a very different situation: as she went to return a book from the library, she spotted him fast asleep at a table in the corner, books scattered haphazardly around—it looked like he’d fallen asleep reading one, because it was still open on the table and he was using it as a pillow. This was a very unusual sight. Petra didn’t think she had ever seen Caspar sleeping, let alone in the library at all. But he looked tired, so she didn’t like to wake him. 

As she made her way from the library, she considered what to do next. There were no classes today, so perhaps she could go hunting? Yes, she could use more smoked meat. Hunting it was. That decided, she headed towards the stable. If she could just bring in some rabbits, that would last her the next few weeks...

As she passed by the main building on her way, she heard something up ahead.

“Oh, stop that,” said a familiar voice, laughing. “I’ll have to wash my face—no, no, get down.”

Was that Linhardt? Whatever was he doing? She increased her pace, and there she saw him, crouched down next to some barrels standing by the wall. A dog—one of the little hunting ones, beagles, she’d heard somebody call them—was jumping up on him in excitement, tail wagging as it tried to lick his face.

“Linhardt,” Petra called out. 

He turned his head to see her, and the dog took the opportunity to put its paws up on his knees and lick him. “Hello, Petra,” Linhardt greeted her back, then carefully took the dog’s paws and put them back on the ground before scratching the dog behind the ears. “Where are you off to today?” he asked Petra.

“I am going to do hunting,” she said. “What are you doing?”

The dog had flopped over on its belly now, tail still wagging, and Linhardt was scratching its belly now. “This little one hurt his paw, so I healed it for him. Awfully excitable, isn’t he?” he said, but he was smiling fondly.

How curious. “I had thought you were...uh, you would be preferring cats,” she said. 

“Everybody thinks that,” said Linhardt, looking none too pleased. “Not that I dislike cats, but I happen to find dogs quite charming. They have too much energy, it’s true, but they’re impossible to stay angry at even when they make a mess of things. It’s inspiring, in a way.”

“I see,” said Petra, nodding thoughtfully. Yes, that did sound like Caspar. Impossible to stay angry at. So then, Linhardt was the cat and Caspar was the dog. That made sense. 

As if he knew what was on her mind, Linhardt said, “By the way, have you seen Caspar today? He wasn’t at the training grounds, and we _do_ need to finish that assignment today.”

“I have seen him,” said Petra. “At the library. He was sleeping there.”

Linhardt frowned, and stopped scratching the dog’s belly to look at Petra. “Sleeping? That’s unlike him.” The dog nosed his hand impatiently, and Linhardt resumed petting him absently.

“It was looking as though he was being there for a long time,” said Petra. “There were many books at his table.”

Linhardt’s frown deepened. “Wait...he can’t have been...” he grimaced. “I should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily.”

“What do you mean?” said Petra.

“We were there working on the assignment last night,” said Linhardt. “I retired to my room as the hour grew late, but Caspar insisted he’d stay there until he finished his part. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been there all night, the stubborn idiot.” He let out a long sigh. “I had better go check on him.”

The dog whined as Linhardt stood up, and he bent to pet him on the head briefly. “Off you go,” he said. “Try not to hurt that paw again, hmm? I won’t always be around to fix it.” Straightening up, he turned to Petra. “Well, I really ought to thank you for telling me that. Happy hunting, I suppose.”

“I am glad to be helping,” said Petra, and Linhardt nodded before heading off. The dog sat down and looked forlornly after him.

Like a cat and dog, Edelgard had said. Petra thought that maybe she was understanding her meaning, now.

The next day, each of the pairs had to turn in their assignments. Dorothea turned hers in alone; Bernadetta could not be coaxed out of her room today, it seemed. Ferdinand handed his and Hubert’s in to the Professor, beaming broadly. 

“I am certain you will find that ours is the superiour project,” he said. “Better than Edelgard’s, of that there is no doubt.”

Edelgard, behind him, said dryly, “I’m sure you did a fine job, Ferdinand. As it happens, I’m quite confident in mine and Petra’s work.”

“Our meager efforts can hardly hope to stand against yours, Lady Edelgard,” said Hubert, as she returned to her seat next to him. 

“Hubert!” said Ferdinand, scandalized. “Do not tell me you were attempting to sabotage me by putting in less than all of your effort!”

Hubert scowled as though he’d just bitten into something unpleasant. “Of course not. I was merely stating that without question, Lady Edelgard’s ability exceeds yours and mine.”

“You must not sell yourself short, Hubert,” said Ferdinand. “Your ability nearly matches my own. Together, we could achieve whatever we set our minds to!”

“How _very_ flattering of you to say so,” said Hubert. “But I must decline. And I want you to know that I do so with great relish.”

Dorothea took the seat next to Petra, shaking her head in exasperation. “Listen to them go,” she said. “Hm, I know Bern’s not here, but where are Caspar and Lin? They’re late.”

“I do not know,” said Petra. “Until yesterday they were not—they did not have completed their work.”

“Oh, well, that’s not surprising,” said Dorothea. “But still...”

The door to the classroom burst open. “SORRY WE’RE LATE!” bellowed Caspar, standing in the open door. He was carrying Linhardt on his back—the taller boy’s feet were nearly dragging on the ground, but he was blinking as if he’d only just been woken up.

“Oh, we’re here?” he said drowsily. “_Now_ will you put me down?”

Caspar let Linhardt slide from his shoulders, and Linhardt handed him the battered stack of papers he was carrying before tottering over to a seat, yawning.

The Professor didn’t bat an eye as Caspar approached to hand in his and Linhardt’s work, panting with exertion, before returning to drop himself in the seat next to his partner.

Dorothea turned in her seat. “You boys certainly slid in under the wire,” she said.

Caspar groaned. “Tell me about it. Linhardt fell asleep in my room and I couldn’t get him to leave. So then I couldn’t go to sleep, and I ended up waking up late, and Linhardt _still_ wouldn’t get up so I had to carry him here!”

“Don’t blame me,” muttered Linhardt, head already pillowed in his arms on the desk. “I would have happily stayed right where I was.”

“Yeah but it’s _my room_! You have your own!”

“Your bed is more comfortable,” said Linhardt.

Caspar’s face flushed red. “Y-yeah well, that’s—ugh! You’re impossible!”

“Improbable, at the very least,” said Linhardt.

Dorothea smiled wryly as she turned back to Petra, the boys continuing to bicker behind them. “Quite the pair, aren’t they?” she said.

“They are like the cat and dog,” said Petra sagely.

Dorothea’s head tilted slightly. “Cat and dog? Is that a Brigid saying?”

“It was something said by Edelgard, but I am thinking I have understanding for it now. Linhardt is very like the cat, but he is liking dogs. And Caspar is very much like the dog, but he is liking cats. So they are very well for each other.”

Dorothea’s eyes were wide. Then suddenly, she broke into a delighted grin and leaned forward to hug Petra. “Aww, Petra! That’s just the cutest thing!”

Petra felt her own face becoming warm. “Is it cutest—um, cute?”

“Yes, I love it,” said Dorothea, regrettably releasing Petra from the hug. “Like a cat and dog...oh, that’s so perfect.”

“I am glad you are thinking so,” said Petra, cheeks feeling a little warm.

“But...” said Dorothea, smiling wryly as she glanced behind them, where Caspar continued to berate Linhardt, who was gamely pretending to be asleep, “Maybe you ought not to tell them that. It can be our little secret.”

A little secret. Petra liked the sound of that. “Yes,” she said. “A secret of ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this is my second needlessly complicated cat/dog comparison in a fic. Incidentally, I work with animals.
> 
> This takes place before Petra's first support with Caspar, but it references it. It probably takes place after her first support with Linhardt, but that's less important.
> 
> As always, I'd love for you to come say hi and tell me what you think! Be my muse for the day :D


	5. When You're In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt realizes that he's in love with his best friend.

Linhardt von Hevring was in love.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened, or when, but he could pinpoint the exact date of his realization: the 16th day of Wyvern Moon, 1880. 

Linhardt had been awake late, meticulously following the path his curiosity had taken him, which involved trawling through various old books and manuscripts in search of information on St. Cethleann. Ever since Flayn’s kidnapping, he’d been possessed of a desire to understand _why_ she’d been kidnapped, what made her blood so special. So far he hadn’t turned up much at all, except from some rather curious anecdotes from a source he was in the process of verifying.

Of course, that was also the night that a terrific thunderstorm was raging. Outside, the wind howled, the rain coming down in sheets, lightning flashing in the sky like cracks in glass and thunder booming after.

None of this particularly bothered Linhardt. He could block out just about any sound, if he was sufficiently focused on his research. That was, until a new sound filtered through his concentration. A tapping sound? No, knocking. Somebody was knocking on his door.

Cautiously, Linhardt put his book aside, and got up to crack open the door and peer out. Somebody short, he saw immediately. Blue hair, miserable expression.

“Caspar,” said Linhardt, opening the door wider. 

Caspar’s expression brightened instantly. “Linhardt! Can I—“ A tremendous crack of thunder split the air, drowning out the rest of Caspar’s words and causing him to flinch in alarm. The wind was so fierce that the rain was practically falling sideways; even standing under the overhang, Caspar looked soaked to the bone.

“Come in,” said Linhardt, deliberately inserting a note of reluctance into his tone. Truthfully, he didn’t mind much at all. He had hit a dead end in his research, and was in need of an interruption so he could resume with a fresh perspective. 

Caspar darted inside immediately, and Linhardt shut the door after him. Then he turned to face his friend, who looked as though he was trying very hard not to drip on the books and papers scattered across Linhardt’s floor, without much success. He looked so thoroughly pathetic that Linhardt half-expected him to shake like a dog. Linhardt folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at Caspar to indicate that he should begin explaining himself.

“Sorry,” Caspar began, “I was just—I couldn’t sleep.”

“Because of the storm,” Linhardt said. It wasn’t a question. Caspar had been afraid of thunderstorms since the time Linhardt had known him, but he’d always hated to admit it. Especially now that they were older. This wasn’t the first time he’d appeared at Linhardt’s door at some ungodly hour for the same reason, and it was unlikely to be the last.

“N-no!” he said, predictably. “Well...look, it’s just, it’s really loud, okay? It woke me up.”

Linhardt sincerely doubted that Caspar had slept at all, judging by how tired he looked. “Right,” he said.

“I figured you might be awake, and your light was on, so...” Caspar shifted his weight nervously.

“So you decided to barge in here, interrupt my research, and get water all over my things. Really, Caspar.”

Caspar bristled. He was so easy to rile up, sometimes even Linhardt couldn’t help prodding him. “It’s not my fault this place is so messy! Maybe you should try cleaning up for once.”

“And who would that benefit? Certainly not me,” said Linhardt. “Why _are_ you here, anyhow?”

“It’s like I said, I couldn’t sleep,” said Caspar. “And we’ve got a big test tomorrow, so I can’t afford to be tired.”

Thunder boomed again, and Caspar visibly tensed. Linhardt regarded him for a moment. He was half-dressed, clothes obviously thrown on in a hurry, expression unhappy with the hint of something else. Defensiveness, Linhardt thought. “You misunderstood,” he said. “I meant to ask, what did you want? Were you planning on hiding under my bed again?”

The defensiveness in Caspar’s expression spread to the rest of him, shoulders squaring as he drew himself up to his full, not especially impressive, height. “No! I was just gonna ask if I could sleep on your floor,” he said, then added quickly, “But it’s obviously too messy, so I’m—I’ll just go.”

“You can sleep on the bed,” said Linhardt, but Caspar was already moving towards him—and the door.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you or anything,” he said.

Linhardt put out a hand to stop him. “You’re not listening,” he said, exasperated. “You can stay.”

Caspar stopped mid-step, confusion overtaking his features. “Huh?”

“Sleep on the bed,” said Linhardt. “I’m not using it.”

He looked even more confused. “But...you’re going to need it later?”

Linhardt shrugged. “I hadn’t been planning on it. I haven’t even gotten through half the books I took from the library.”

“This is why you’re always sleeping during the day, isn’t it?” grumbled Caspar. “Just sleep at night like a normal person.”

“Hmm,” said Linhardt, pretending to think about this. “No, I don’t think I will.” 

“You’re going to miss lecture tomorrow if you don’t sleep,” said Caspar. 

“Good point. Let’s compromise. I can be there in body, but in spirit I’ll keep to my own devices.” 

“You mean you’re gonna sleep through it, in class,” said Caspar.

“Precisely. Everybody wins.” He really did need to go to lecture. He was due in for a telling-off by Edelgard if he kept skipping, and that was a fate best avoided.

Caspar sighed, as if _he_ were the one who was the most put upon in their relationship. “I guess that’s fine...but you really should get at least a little sleep tonight, Linhardt.”

“How about this,” said Linhardt. “You sleep in the bed, and when I need it, I’ll wake you. The storm might have passed by then. Alternately, I’ll sleep in it after you wake up to train at whatever ridiculous hour you do.”

Caspar still didn’t look completely happy, but another flash of light through the window did him in. “Yeah...all right. But you have to promise to kick me out when you need it.”

“I solemnly swear it,” said Linhardt. “Now, change out of those wet clothes before you soak my bedsheets with them.”

“Yeah, yeah...” said Caspar. “You got anything else I can wear?”

Linhardt moved to a pile of clothes stacked haphazardly in the corner. “I’m sure I can find something,” he said, beginning to dig through it. “Ah, yes. Here’s a tunic. It’s going to be much too long, of course—“ he said, turning with the tunic in hand, only to be caught unawares that Caspar was already stripping off his clothes, shirt pulled halfways over his head.

It was difficult to remember that, despite his small stature, Caspar really was quite muscular now. Linhardt felt his face go slightly hot, and looked away, clearing his throat. “Couldn’t you have waited a moment?” he said.

Caspar, now completely shirtless and apparently not noticing the effect this had on Linhardt, said, “For what? We’re both guys.”

Linhardt simply threw the tunic at him. “Just put it on,” he said, unaccountably annoyed. Caspar pulled it on, and sure enough, it went down over his knees. He stripped off his breeches underneath, and hung his own clothes over a chair stacked high with books to dry. 

“Ugh, you’re so tall,” he complained. “It’s not fair.”

“Blame the goddess,” said Linhardt. “Or my father. You can choose.”

“I could just blame _my_ father for being short,” said Caspar, sitting on the edge of Linhardt’s bed.

“Is he short? He cuts such an imposing figure, it’s hard to tell.”

“Yeah...maybe that’s what I should be going for. Being super tough and scary. I could do it.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” said Linhardt. “You’re undeniably tough, and you frighten me on a regular basis. I would say you’re well on your way.”

“Haha, yeah, I got this!” said Caspar, then frowned. “Wait, how come I frighten you?”

“It frightens me that you don’t know the answer to that,” said Linhardt. “Are you going to sleep? I don’t know what time it is now, but it can’t be early.”

Thunder rolled outside, but Caspar didn’t seem as jumpy as before. He’d been like this since they were children, terrified at the onset of a storm, and always seeking Linhardt to calm him down. Linhardt didn’t really mind. He didn’t understand exactly _why_ Caspar found his presence comforting; probably he was just too embarrassed to go to anybody else.

“Oh, yeah,” said Caspar. “I better try to.” He swung his legs onto the bed and lay down, pulling the covers up around him. “’Night, Linhardt. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Good night, Caspar. Sleep well,” said Linhardt, returning to his desk.

It took Linhardt another four hours before the words on the pages started swimming and he couldn’t focus on a sentence long enough to understand it. Which was just as well, since he had barely made any progress. He sat back with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. 

Why was he doing this, again? 

Oh, right. Flayn. And her as-yet unknown connection to St. Cethleann. As with Lysithea and Marianne, Flayn seemed unforthcoming with the information he was so curious to learn. 

It was all so vexing. It seemed reasonable enough to him that he should romantically pursue a woman who interested him. And he _liked_ them well enough. He didn’t particularly like the idea of getting married, but if it was inevitable he would prefer for it to be on his own terms, not his father’s.

Marriage. Sharing his life, sharing his house, sharing a bed. Ugh. Children. Yet another grim inevitability, as long as he bore his Crest. At least it might produce more subjects for his research...

Linhardt turned in his chair as he thought, gaze falling on his bed here in the monastery, which was currently occupied by a sleeping Caspar. The storm had quieted some time ago, and his friend was resting peacefully now, curled on his side and hugging a pillow, face buried in the fabric and snoring softly. A fond smile tugged at Linhardt’s lips. Like this, in the absence of Caspar’s over-loud exuberance and reckless abandon, he could almost be described as...cute. It would be a shame to wake him, but Linhardt could feel a bout of sleepiness coming on. Caspar wasn’t taking up much room...perhaps Linhardt could simply climb into the bed next to him, as they used to when they were children.

It took him a full twenty seconds of sleepiness-induced staring for the implication to hit him of what it meant that he so enjoyed the sight of Caspar in his bed.

A cold feeling seeped into the warmth in Linhardt’s chest. Certainly, he could admit to himself that he was _attracted_ to Caspar; Linhardt had already made his peace with the troublesome fact that he was attracted to men as well as women. And Caspar was handsome, wasn’t he? He’d heard girls giggling over his dimpled smile on at least one occasion. So it stood to reason that sometimes when the light caught Caspar’s face just right, or when his casual touches lingered too long, Linhardt would get flustered. Perfectly natural. Expected, even.

This was something else. 

He couldn’t...he couldn’t _love_ Caspar. That would be foolishness. It would serve no purpose. They could never hope to marry—even _supposing_ Caspar was remotely interested in the idea, which...could he be?

His mind immediately began cataloguing interactions Caspar had had with other people. He’d displayed interest in girls in the past, but no relationships that Linhardt knew of (and he was confident that if there was one, he would have known). With boys...who did Caspar regularly interact with besides Linhardt? That Blue Lions boy, Ashe...and Caspar often trained with the large, muscular one from Golden Deer. Raphael? Linhardt couldn’t think of anything that would indicate Caspar felt any sort of attraction towards either of them, or any of his other male friends. 

He shook himself. No, it wouldn’t do any good thinking about it. He didn’t need this kind of complication in his life. That’s all it would be: a complication. There was no need to put his friendship—or his feelings—in jeopardy over this.

Caspar could never find out. The worst case scenario would be if he became disgusted with Linhardt and broke off their friendship. Linhardt didn’t think that would happen. A more likely outcome would be that Caspar would pity him, and even imagining the emotional burden that would put on their relationship was exhausting. 

The best case scenario would be if Caspar reciprocated, and—

The image of Caspar kissing him suddenly flooded Linhardt’s mind, spreading an intoxicating heat all through him.

No, thought Linhardt, banishing the image swiftly, _that_ would be the worst case scenario.

The object of his ill-conceived attraction, lying in his bed, mumbled something in his sleep and buried his face in the pillow he was curled around.

And honestly, that was the worst part. Really? _Caspar_? Overly energetic, frequently injured, no table manners Caspar?

Clearly Linhardt had terrible taste. All he could hope for was that this was some sort of phase, and soon it would pass, and Caspar would never know.

That was how it would have to be.

But for now...Linhardt sighed, approaching the bed to look down on his sleeping friend. He could wake him, as he’d promised...but he looked so peaceful. It wasn’t very often anymore that Linhardt got to see Caspar like this, quiet, still, and vulnerable.

Just this once, he told himself. Just this once, he’d indulge himself, and perhaps it would be enough to satisfy his feelings.

Carefully, he climbed onto the bed. There was just enough room behind Caspar for him to lay down, back to back with him. He was so _warm_. Caspar made a little noise of contentment, uncurling just a bit so that his back was flush with Linhardt’s. Carefully Linhardt raised a hand, making a motion to extinguish the candle by the desk with magic. 

And then it was dark, and the only sound was Caspar’s breathing, and the rain still falling outside. The world felt so small, just the two of them, underneath a blanket, back to back.

It was good enough, for Linhardt.

It had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, here we go...I wanted to write another light-hearted story before this, but I got stuck so we're going ahead with this.
> 
> Once again thanks for all of your supportive comments! I love to hear from you :3


End file.
